


Stockholm

by Ayes



Category: Twilight RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, One-Sided Relationship, POV First Person, Pining, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 02:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12471856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayes/pseuds/Ayes
Summary: He does, in his own way, love her. He thinks he does. it's a dark quiet thing, a Neruda kind of thing. He appreciates the way that she fits into the lonely parts of his day and the disorganized parts of his life, how she always can find his keys or laugh at his jokes or leave for the entire weekend when he goes out on Friday nights wearing cologne. All without asking.





	Stockholm

Watching her breakup from the outside is like sitting in the editing room where the blue collar Hollywood works. Bits and pieces and scraps, snips of information on the cutting room floor, whole scenes missing until later on. It's hard to keep track of everything that Dakota lets slip and so Rob doesn't really try. He gauges the purple of her eyes from his place beside her, and wonders why he cares about what's going on.  
  
It's kind of an idle interest, the sort that everyone onset takes when things go bad and the gossip is rampant. There's a rumor that she was pregnant, or is, but Rob doesn't know if that comes from Kristen or US Weekly. At any rate, her mother snaps at the paparazzi in their remote parking lot, and his interest doesn't go away.  
  
He's a thinker, Robert, and it makes him sound like some stuffy, pretentious blogger or something, but he thinks a lot. And about people. Kristen is present in his life, not necessarily important, but instated and acceptable. He knows how bad things are going right now, but she never brings it up to him, and is instead as sweet as ever. _Sweet_ , that's the word for her, like a wind-up doll or a quiet little home. She pushes jokes too far and bumps him with her hip and she's too quiet when she's drunk for him to really trust her.  
  
She likes him, too. Before he notices, Jackson and Nikki and even Peter have winked at him, Peter the most obviously. And then there are the clues, and he is made to politely and professionally endure her at his side each lunch and on all his cigarette breaks, and the long, slow blushes that went with any eye contact. He was a little embarrassed by it, and for her as well, considering that everybody seemed to know. He never brings it up, and soon he becomes so used to having her as a shadow that he assumes she has gotten over her crush. Time passes and they are just closer, now, grown toward one another gradually and without any choice; Robert considers them friends and didn't think about what Kristen thought or if it was hurting her.  
  
The next two and a half years go by quickly, like a stressful dream filled with the things that life is filled with, day after day. Robert gets a speeding ticket and it is all over the news. Kristen is moving in with him.  
  
It's platonic. It's actually a mutual favor. It makes sense, to have a place in LA, and she shares it with him when she's not at her parent's house. Kristen is at her parent's house a lot at first, and he thinks that she just misses them before he realizes that she's just scared of him.  
  
So he goes to see her. It's not a romantic gesture but he brings her flowers, and it doesn't occur to him that it might be manipulative until her eyes light up and she goes home with him. He doesn't care, when she makes him dinner.  
  
Six more months.  
  
He does, in his own way, love her. He thinks he does. it's a dark quiet thing, a Neruda kind of thing. He appreciates the way that she fits into the lonely parts of his day and the disorganized parts of his life, how she always can find his keys or laugh at his jokes or leave for the entire weekend when he goes out on Friday nights wearing cologne. All without asking.  
  
Robert watches her through the stained glass door when she is in their shower, the outlines of her through the steam when he passes by. He can't see anything but abstracts and in some ways she is lean and in some ways she is slight and in other ways she is curved like a woman. His fingers will linger on his collar on the way out the door or fumble through his lines for a table read or he'll just pause, out of sight, and wonder where his head is going.  
  
It's her twenty-third birthday and she looks just the same, a little leaner, a little more haunted. Her hair is long and heavy, and she wears her bangs clipped back at odd angles as they grow back in. The gossip magazines have long since gotten over the fact that they live together and do not seem to be in a relationship; the new thing is that he is gay and she is a lesbian and they are brother and sister to each other in a metaphorical way. It's false and they don't talk about it, he assumes that she is happy to be left alone; as for him, the gay thing gets him laid from time to time.  
  
Neither of them are in relationships right now, although he can tell she's dating someone by the lipstick in the bathroom and how rarely she sits next to him and watches Doctor Who anymore. But it's not serious yet apparently, since it's her birthday and they're eating pound cake and strawberries with vanilla icing he melted over the top, just the two of them. She is leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen, he is sitting at the kitchen table and looking at her.  
  
She looks beautiful in the light from above the stove and the trick birthday candle still burning on her plate; it throws shadows up that look tribal and a million years old. He approaches her, leans forward and blows out her candle; it flares right back up, and she laughs softly.  
  
He lets her kiss him because it's her birthday. When her chest bumps against his a thrill goes through him, but when she presses her sticky mouth against his, he is careful and still, letting her control the kiss and never opening his mouth. Her lips are soft and his heartbeat is pounding in his throat.  
  
He pulls away, smiles at her in a way that doesn't reach his eyes, and goes straight to bed.  
  
They don't talk about it and later he watches her fuck something up with a guy. They're sitting in the living room when Rob comes home, masks his shock, and greets them. The guy is a brown blob, in his eyes, of teeth and hair. He is asking Kristen about their weekend plans, and Kristen is staring straight at the television. He sees that she isn't considering her answer even though shes blushed when talking to this guy on the phone before before. He remembers, he was curious, and this voice is familiar from the nights he'd listen in on Kristen saying goodbye in the driveway. American, of course, and annoying as shit.  
  
"There's never anything fun to do, I'm just going to stay in," Kristen says, or something like that, and Rob stares at her from the island in the kitchen, opening a Coke.  
  
"Oh yeah?" the guy asks, and Kristen realizes that she should have given another answer, but she looks up and sees Rob, and something about how quickly her eyes find him makes him interrupt.  
  
"We're watching a bunch of movies," he says, apropos of nothing.  
  
Kristen looks alarmed and so does her date. Rob resists smiling, but he doesn't know why he's playing games so he just grabs the box of Cheez-Its and heads for his room.  
  
His grandmother dies and he cries openly while packing, his mouth open and sticky with tears as he stares blindly at his hands. He doesn't know that he's making noise until she's next to him, he doesn't realize that he's turned to her until she pulls at his shirt until they are having sex and she is quiet and she opens and closes her mouth like he did when he was wailing only moments before.  
  
Maybe his life is on mute. He thinks he's been watching Kristen with the sound off, not ever really sure what was going on or what he was supposed to think about it. She loves him, he's always known that, but now he realizes like he's never known it before. She loves him, for real. And he'd lead her into that pain, uncaring, senses dulled to what she did for him.  
  
But it's made him feel too good to have her there and loving him.  
  
The plane leave tomorrow, so he stays up and thinks. He is upset and feeling selfish and he is and afraid of losing this revelation and he doesnt want to hurt her anymore but she comes to him and watches him and he opens his eyes and she pulls him back into her thin cool arms. It's smothering and intoxicating like incense smoke and his head doesn't feel right.  
  
"I know," he says to her, like she told him she loved him out loud instead of silently every day for years. She tightens her arms around him and he refuses to press into her weight, lest he crush her. But the warmth, it's nice.  
  
He means to tell her that he doesn't know what he wants, that he doesn't know if he loves her. He ought to tell her that he doesn't love her back, but he's not sure that he doesn't, after all, and it's hard for him to find the next thing that he actually wants on the record.  
  
"I don't want to share you," he says finally, and she says "I'm yours" and she presses against him, and he holds her close and tight.


End file.
